Bel considered. Did she? His serious tone boded ill, but in the end her curiosity won out. “Yes. Yes, read me what ever scandalous falsehood they’re peddling now.”
He heaved a dramatic sigh. “Well, according to this distinguished publication, I’ve been spending my days here in London, at the Hidden Pearl. There’s a charming illustration provided by Mr. Hollyhurst. Would you care to see?”
“No.” Bel closed her eyes. “Dare I guess the nature of this establishment, the Hidden Pearl? I don’t suppose it’s a shop that sells jewels.”
“Well… I wouldn’t call them jewels. Cheap trinkets, more like.”
“Toby!” Bel’s teeth ground together. How he found this amusing was beyond her comprehension. “But—” She jostled on one leg as a maid peeled the muslin gown from her torso. “But that’s a preposterous assertion!”
“Completely,” Toby agreed. His voice sounded nearer now, just on the other side of the drapery. “I haven’t gone near the Hidden Pearl in weeks.”
Bel gasped with indignation.
“Very well, months.”
She pulled the drape to the side and craned her neck around it to glare at him. He grinned at her over the paper. “Years?”
Insufferable tease. “It’s not a laughing matter, Toby!”
“Of course it is. As you say, it’s a preposterous assertion. The only thing for it is to laugh.”
“We know it to be preposterous, but what of everyone else? What if people read that paper and believe that you … that you …”
“Have a penchant for trinkets?” His eyebrow quirked. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous. Have you so little faith in me?”
Bel gripped the curtain to her chest and blinked away an unshed tear. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so out of sorts today.”
But she did know. Stupid girl, she chided herself. She’d been well aware of Toby’s reputation before she married him. Her husband was an infamous rake. What had she thought, that public speculation would miraculously cease on their wedding day? That the women of London would stop batting their lashes in his direction? That The Prattler would plaster his image on a broadsheet as a sterling example of morality—“The Rake Reformed”?
Stupid, stupid girl.
Toby’s gaze flitted back and forth between her face and the velvet drape wrapped around her chest. “That’s a lovely color on you,” he said thoughtfully. “Yes, that will serve very well.”
She sniffed.
“Come with me to the opera, darling.” Tossing aside the newspaper, he framed her face in his warm, confident hands. His brown eyes held her, made her strong. “Let me dress you up and devastate London with your beauty. I promise you, no newspaper will dare accuse me of dallying again—because no one would ever believe it. They’ll know, no painted bauble at the Hidden Pearl could ever compare with the radiant, elegant woman I married. One look at us together, and they will know the truth.” His thumb stroked her cheek. “There’s no other lady for me.”
Bel’s lips pressed together. The rest of her fell apart. Oh, how she wished he would kiss her. Right here in the modiste’s fitting room, while she stood wrapped in her shift and a velvet curtain, in front of all these preening French coquettes.
He did.
And this time, she did not mind the giggling.
Toby held that kiss just as long as he dared. While he kissed her, her lips couldn’t form questions. While he kissed her, his lips couldn’t lie.
There’s no other lady for me.
That much was the truth. The simple, soul-baring truth, and he poured it all into this chaste, sweet kiss, hoping his wife could feel and believe it.
Lord knew, she wasn’t too quick to recognize truth when it was spoken aloud. His heart still pounded in his chest, after that close scrape just now with The Prattler. He’d come a heartbeat from simply confessing everything. But once again, she’d displayed such complete faith in him, he just couldn’t bring himself to destroy it. Confession was out of the question.
No, Toby had a different plan.
“Now, then,” he whispered, breaking the kiss. “Be a good girl and have your measurements. Allow me to discuss the style with Madame. I’ll make certain you’re happy.”
A Lady of Persuasion (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #3)
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